


Cover Him In Gold

by SlimReaper



Series: Festivals [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Paint, Conjunx Endura, Do not send me your dental bills, Festival of the FIve, Fluff and Smut, M/M, NSFW, Other, Ratchet is a Trophy Wife, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Night, You Have Been Warned, dratchet - Freeform, iopele, sensitive medic hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7086592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediate sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4653288">Risk It All</a></p><p>The Festival of Primus is over, having started with the Race won by Drift, and culminating in the Closing Ceremony where he took the Rite with his chosen Prize, Ratchet. Now back home with his brand new conjunx endura, Drift has a promise to keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cover Him In Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rayearthmagic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayearthmagic/gifts).



> This fic is for the wonderful, amazing, incredible, fabulous Rayearthmagic! Love you!

There was no sweeter sound than the quiet _click_ of the door shutting behind them, finally shutting them away from the rest of the universe, press and priests and Prime alike, now that the closing ceremonies of the Festival of Primus were finally over.

Well, unless it was the solid _thunk_ of the locks engaging, ensuring that even if anyone dared to try to follow the Victor and his Prize inside, they couldn’t.

Drift drew in a slow, deep vent as they both stared at the closed doors, trying to steady his nerves. And even knowing that it was silly to be this nervous _now_ , after it was all over and their union had been proclaimed before gods and mecha alike, didn’t seem to make any difference to his emotions. He was  _nervous_ , as nervous as he’d been days before when waiting for Ratchet to awaken and hadn’t had any idea how he would react to seeing Drift beside him, so nervous that he was shaking.

His brand new conjunx squeezed his hand, and he was surprised to feel a tremor in the fingers wrapped around his, too. “At some point this is going to stop feeling utterly unreal, right?” Ratchet murmured, his field unfurling a bit from the tight control he’d maintained over it all night so the edges could mingle with Drift’s.

Somehow, feeling Ratchet’s anxiousness helped alleviate Drift’s. “Primus, I sure hope so,” he said fervently, and turned to smile at the medic.

He had to reset his vocalizer twice at the sight of him. Like his, Ratchet’s plating had been accented with ceremonial gold paint, and while his decorations weren’t anywhere near as elaborate as Drift’s, the accents highlighted his rugged beauty in a way that made Drift’s spark ache. Fine lines traced along his chevron, beneath his optics, and along the edges of his helm. A thick gold line that began beneath his lower lip and ran over his chin and down his throat to end at his collar fairing tempted Drift to follow its path with his glossa. His broad shoulders sported tasteful accents, and his windshield bore Primus’ sacred starburst above his spark.

And his hands, those skillful, life-saving hands, had been honored with intricate gold patterns that glinted with every move he made.

He had been looking at Ratchet in that paint for the last ten hours and it still took his breath away. “You are too beautiful to be real,” Drift heard himself whisper before he’d even decided whether or not to speak.

Ratchet stared at him, mouth momentarily hanging open, before his faceplates flushed and he glanced away. And the sight of his confident, strong mate so flustered was so alluring that Drift was about to say more--to detail everything he found beautiful about him--but Ratchet suddenly looked past him with a frown. “What the…”

Drift knew what to expect when he turned to follow Ratchet’s gaze, but the sight still took his breath away. A delicate trail of snowy white lay scattered across the floor, real organic flower petals, a rare extravagance Drift had ordered days before specifically for this occasion. Tiny lights bordered the path, glimmering across the entryway and up the stairs toward their berthroom in unmistakable invitation.

It was even better than he’d imagined, and Ratchet’s optics were wide and stunned when he met Drift’s gaze again. “How did you… you were with me the entire time!”

He smiled and took Ratchet’s hands. “I asked Optimus for help,” he admitted as he tugged the medic closer. “I wanted to surprise you… make tonight romantic for you.”

Ratchet blushed again, sending another flutter through Drift’s spark. “Drift,” he said incredulously, even his field warm with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, “you saved my life, won the Race of Primus for me, called for me when you could’ve had anyone, and you’re standing there cloaked in gold like something out of a romance novel… I don’t think this could _get_ any more romantic!”

How could one spark contain this much joy, this much love? Drift stepped forward and stroked a gentle fingertip down the side of Ratchet’s throat just to savor the sight of his shiver. “I may be able to change your mind,” he murmured, and swept the medic up in his arms.

Ratchet gasped and clutched at his shoulders as Drift carried him along the flower-strewn path. " _Drift!_ What are you--I can walk!"

"Yes," Drift agreed, making no move to put him down.

"You're going to hurt yourself," Ratchet grumbled, pushing at his shoulders.

"Nope," he replied just as calmly, squeezing his thigh as they reached the foot of the steps, making the medic gasp.

Ratchet squirmed in his arms. "This isn't necessary," he mumbled, but his field sang with the thrill of being swept off his feet and carried away, and Drift wasn't about to let him go.

"Mmm hmm," he murmured, nuzzling his lover's audial, and grinned at the little squeak that earned him.

Every step crushed the petals, perfuming the air with their scent, and he ignored Ratchet’s protests all the way up the stairs and into their berthroom. He didn’t care what the medic said, he wasn’t _that_ heavy and Drift wasn’t causing any harm to his frame by doing this--his autorepair had already taken care of most of the strains from the race, and he hadn’t sustained any structural damage anyway.

But even if he had, it would’ve been worth it to see the way Ratchet bit his lip and tried to hide his blushes, and that little smile he glimpsed before Ratchet pressed his hot face against Drift’s throat to conceal it. _Note to self,_ Drift thought as he stopped beside their berth and reluctantly put Ratchet back on his feet. _Don’t be fooled by the gruff exterior--he’s a romantic at spark._

It was an unexpected side of his mate that Drift planned to indulge at every available opportunity.

And there was no time like the present. While Ratchet was staring at their berth--also covered in flowers and surrounded by those tiny lights scattered all over the room, he would have to thank Optimus, he’d really gone above and beyond here--Drift reached up and unfastened the cloak that he’d worn throughout the Festival’s closing ceremony. A flick of the wrists and it spread over the berth in a shimmering puddle of gold.

“Hey!” Ratchet reached out, clearly about to snatch it off the berth again. “This thing is a treasure, you can’t just throw it on the berth like that!”

Before he could grab it up, Drift swept him back up in his arms. “I don’t plan to _throw_ my treasure on the berth,” he said, grinning as he lay Ratchet in the center of the cape’s expanse with exaggerated care.

Ratchet spluttered, his faceplates glowing brightly now, and Drift chuckled as he followed him down and stretched out beside him. “I have a promise to keep to you now that we don’t have to worry about smearing this paint,” Drift murmured, smoothing a palm over the symbol in the center of Ratchet’s windshield. The medic’s optics flared with desire and Drift could almost see the memory file replay in Ratchet’s processor:

_I’ll make it up to you later… I’ll cover you in gold._

Then, very deliberately, Drift flicked his glossa over his gold-painted lips, moistening the paint before he bent to press a kiss to the edge of Ratchet’s windshield.

When he lifted his helm, the faintest golden impression of his lips remained, glimmering in the soft light, visible to them both.

Ratchet’s fans kicked on and Drift wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but then they were kissing, long and passionate and everything he’d ached for during the endless hours of the ceremony when they could barely touch for fear of smearing the paint. Again and again, deep, wonderful kisses, glossas tangling, lips clinging, perfect, glorious. Drift shifted to slide his frame against his lover’s, knowing he was leaving still more transfers behind, and he wanted to see it but how was he supposed to break a kiss that felt like _this?_

It was Ratchet who pulled away first, gasping for air to supplement his straining fans, and the sight of gold on his mate’s lips kicked Drift’s own fans into high gear. “Oh, my love,” he murmured, not even trying to hide the joy and wonder in his field as he bent and pressed a shining line of kisses down Ratchet’s arching throat. Ratchet’s field answered with a surge of pure love as he clutched Drift close and moaned his name, and had he ever heard any sound as gorgeous as that? “My love, my conjunx, my everything…”

“Drift,” Ratchet gasped again, smoldering optics tracking his every move as Drift kissed his way down to his chestplates, each kiss marked in steadily fading gold. When he reached the center, Drift met his gaze and deliberately swirled his glossa over the sacred starburst painted above his spark, feeling the surface of the paint loosening as he moistened it with his oral solvents before pressing his lips to it to coat them in gold once more. Ratchet shuddered and moaned when he flicked his glossa over the upper edge of his abdominal plating, leaving a shimmering streak behind.

And Drift kept going, pressing kiss after kiss to his plating, every inch of him, returning to that starburst when he had kissed away every trace of paint from his lips, or to that thick line of gold stretching so temptingly down his lover’s throat. Ratchet moaned and gasped beneath him, caressing every inch of Drift that he could reach, pulling him into long, passionate kisses whenever he could, trembling beneath him with every new place marked with gold.

By the time Drift reached his hips, Ratchet was shaking with the effort of keeping his panel closed. Drift was glad he’d managed it this long, though, because the sight of a golden kiss in the center of that crimson panel was one he would carry with him for the rest of his functioning. He only had a moment to appreciate it before the scorching panel snapped aside and presented him with an even more beautiful sight to savor. Ratchet’s spike pressurized immediately, biolights flaring, his valve glistening with moisture, and Drift met his lover’s gaze with a smile.

“Running low on paint here, love,” he purred as he rose up to kneel between Ratchet’s thighs, running a fingertip down that now-faded line along his throat to the hazy starburst on his windshield. “I’ll need to find a new source… where do you think I could find more?”

“Oh frag,” Ratchet groaned when Drift took careful hold of one painted hand to raise it to his lips. “Drift, be careful or this might be over sooner than either one of us would like.”

“Trust me,” he whispered, pressing an almost-chaste kiss to his lover’s fingertips. Drift lifted his free hand and licked his palm, holding Ratchet’s gaze the entire time as Drift suckled his own fingers one by one, moistening first one, then his other paint-free hand as Ratchet watched his every move.

And then he pressed his hand to Ratchet’s, palm to palm, his other hand covering the back of Ratchet’s, letting the moisture work on the paint coating both sides of Ratchet’s hand and transferring it to his own. Even without putting his mouth directly on Ratchet’s hypersensitive hands, the medic still groaned low and his field throbbed with overload barely held at bay.

Drift released his hand at last but he didn’t give him any time to recover before he reached down and wrapped both his hands around that deliciously thick spike.

 _“Drift!”_ Ratchet shouted, arching on the berth, thrusting his spike deeper into Drift’s grip and grabbing hold of his thighs with both hands, leaving a gold handprint of his own behind on the speedster’s plating.

“Primus, you’re beautiful,” Drift murmured as Ratchet writhed beneath him in the throes of overload, his white and red frame marked all over with the shining ghosts of Drift’s kisses, biolights flaring, energy dancing along his strong frame and flickering across the gold cape as Drift stroked his spike with both hands, drawing his overload out as long as he could. “So beautiful, love, so damn beautiful…”

And when the pleasure finally passed and Drift released him, the sight of his own golden handprints on Ratchet’s spike was almost enough to trigger Drift’s own overload.

But then Ratchet was grabbing his hips with uncoordinated hands, pulling him down, hooking his legs over Drift’s thighs, half invitation, half demand. “Please,” he panted, lifting his hips and tightening his legs so his valve brushed against the base of Drift’s spike. “Please, Drift, _please…_ ”

He couldn’t have resisted that if he tried.

Drift’s optics fell closed and he moaned long and low as he lined up and pressed inside, that clenching, slick heat surrounding his spike so perfectly. Ratchet echoed him, calipers gripping in rolling waves from base to tip, and _fragging pit_ it was good, it was so good that he couldn’t vent hard enough, his fans couldn’t spin fast enough to dispel the heat building within his frame, couldn’t even make his hips be still to get control of the charge building fast and hard and rushing him toward overload. “Not gonna last,” he warned through static, shaking from head to toe with the effort of holding off his climax, just for a little longer, _please just a little longer, not ready for this to end yet, please--_

“Then come here,” Ratchet rasped, and his windshield split smoothly down the center, sliding aside and baring his spark chamber, bathing the room in light.

He stared, stunned that Ratchet would offer his spark like this so soon. “Oh Ratchet,” Drift whispered, awed at the sight before him, so overwhelmed with love in that moment that he wasn’t sure he could even move to reciprocate.

But his spark knew what it wanted, and his frame was already reacting without his conscious thought, retracting his chestplates and exposing his own spark. His backstrut curved and lowered his chest toward his lover's, his conjunx endura, his sparkmate, everything he had ever wanted, the only mech he had ever loved or ever would.

And then their sparks flared almost as though reaching for each other, twin coronas of energy meeting and entwining in a surge of light and emotion and sensation and _yes there you are, yes this is right, yes this is all I need, **yes** \--_

Overload crashed over them in the same moment, pleasure reflecting from spark to spark, amplified each time, impossible to tell where it started or ended, and the only thing that existed in the universe was _this_ \--the perfect moment, this single golden instant where there was no Drift and no Ratchet, only _us,_ only _yes,_ only _mine_.

_Forever._

**Author's Note:**

> In this no-war AU, Ratchet doesn't have the heavy-duty armor of a battle medic, so while he still is very strong and his frame is reinforced and heavier than an average mech's, he's not quite as heavy as I usually write him. Also this Drift is in the Primal Vanguard so he's got upgrades of his own. All this explains why he could carry Ratchet around so easily, since I usually write these two differently! XD
> 
> I'm on tumblr as iopele. [Check out my tumblr page here!](http://iopele.tumblr.com/commissions)


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